


falling down like pieces into place

by Timjan



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Crooked era, D/s elements, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill, Shifting Power Dynamics, Size Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, roleplay elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timjan/pseuds/Timjan
Summary: Emily sticks her straw back into her own glass, then she holds the glass out towards Tommy, inviting him to wrap his lips around the straw she just licked and drink out of her hand. Tommy does so, maintaining eye contact all the while.





	falling down like pieces into place

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [this](https://podsavethekink.dreamwidth.org/659.html?thread=164243#cmt164243) prompt on the Podsa kink meme, which reads: “Emily finds out Jon and Tommy used to fuck girls together back in D.C., and now she can't stop thinking about it.”
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift’s _All Too Well_ , mainly because of [this](https://twitter.com/ebfavs/status/994057480429699072) tweet.
> 
> A million thanks to my beta [SelfRescuingPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelfRescuingPrincess/), who squealed at me about how hot this was and then helped make it even hotter (and sharper!) (and funnier!) (and more sense-making!) (and more fashion conscious!).
> 
> The fourth wall is our friend, especially with Emily and Hanna involved. Please help keep it intact.

It starts with a tweet. Twitter is a cesspool, but Emily knows how to get the best possible enjoyment-to-annoyance-ratio out of it. She isn’t currently utilizing that know-how, though, because she’s sick and bored and Leo decided she was too hot and clingy and left her alone in bed and her stupid self-care chick lit novel is in the living room. So she’s, like, twelve scrolls deep into a boredom-fueled #friendofthepod search that honestly isn’t all that interesting; mostly pictures of random people in merch interspersed with a few weird golf references that Emily doesn’t get and doesn’t care to get. She scrolls back to the top, about to go look at some other hashtag, when a new tweet pops up. It’s from a woman named Laura Andersen, and it reads:

“Does having slept with two of the cohosts mean I’m something more than just a #FriendOfThePod?”

Emily hears herself actually whine as she reads, and instantly feels silly about it; she turns the whine into a laugh at herself. (And _of course_ her laughter then turns itself into a coughing fit.) Still, it really isn’t great to be reminded of her husband’s past hookups and relationships, because Emily doubts that Laura Andersen meant Tommy and Dan as the two cohosts she has fucked. Even so, Emily can’t stop herself; she clicks through to the tweet and starts obsessively refreshing it, wincing every time a new reply appears.

“slut of the pod lol jk you know i love you”

“Lauraaaaa how did I not know about this!?”

“friend-with-benefits of the pod, obvs, and also it seems you have a story to tell me the next time we catch up xoxo”

Emily is _not_ living her best life right now, but she’s unable to stop refreshing, morbid curiosity about this stranger who has fucked her husband egging her on. But it isn’t until the fourth reply that she gets truly intrigued.

“Yeah, Laura, thanks for the reminder that you got Favietor’d back in ’10, I had almost forgotten. Lucky bitch.”

 _Favietor’d?_ Emily doesn’t have time to consider this new and frankly _alarming_ word for more than a few seconds before a new reply from the same person appears:

“Did you mean to post that publicly, tho, hon?”

Laura, who up until now has let the replies from her friends roll in uncommented, is suddenly quick to respond.

“Nooooo fuckfuckfuck”

And then the original tweet is gone. Before Emily quite knows what she’s doing, she screenshots the ‘Favietor’d’ reply, saving the image under the name “?????”.

\---

When Jon first enters their bedroom that night, bearing cough drops and ginger tea, Emily powers through her hoarseness to greet him with, “If I say ‘Favietor’d,’ what do you say?”

Her husband gives her a slightly worried look and a cough drop.

“Uh, that sounds like a weird mix of ‘Favreau’ and ‘Vietor’?” he says. “Why?”

Emily sucks on her cough drop until her throat feels a little less like she’s spent the day eating sand for kicks and giggles. Then she asks, ignoring Jon’s question and maybe trying the tiniest bit to pick a fight, “Well, what if I say ‘Laura Andersen,’ then?”

Jon just looks at her blankly. Emily rolls her eyes.

“Did you and Tommy use to fuck girls together?” she asks, then, blunter than she had planned to.

Jon’s eyes go wide, and he’s quiet for long enough that Emily knows he’s not going to deny it.

“ _Jon_ ,” she says, trying to keep as much exasperation as possible out of her voice. “How have you never told me this?”

Jon sits down at the edge of the bed and cards his fingers through Emily’s unwashed hair.

“Em…” he says, puppy-dog eyes in full force.

Emily is not moved.

“Answer the question, Jon.”

“Er… it never seemed like the right time?”

Well, _obviously_.

Emily sits up in bed to take a sip of tea, Jon helping her hold the cup so she won’t spill on their Parachute sheets. When the cup’s empty, Jon puts it on the nightstand and lies down beside her, still in his day clothes. Emily breathes in his warm, cinnamon-y scent and tries not to think about what _she_ must smell like after two-and-a-half days in bed.

“How many times did you do it?” she asks, voice softer now (and not just from the tea).

Jon tugs her closer and noses behind her ear.

“Three,” he mumbles.

“When?”

“Uh, two times in 2010… and then one in 2011.”

That’s the answer Emily had been… well, ‘dreading’ seems like too strong a word, but ‘apprehending,’ maybe?

“Why wasn’t that on offer for me, then?” she asks, a little petulant.

Jon lifts his head from where he’s been kissing Emily’s fever-sweat-gross neck and leans on his elbow to look down at her with gooey eyes.

“You were never just a hook-up, love,” he says, kissing her nose. “That’s why.”

Emily makes herself be okay with that answer, and smiles up at her husband until he leans down to kiss her again, on the mouth this time (germs be damned, apparently).

\---

Later the same night, when Jon has come to bed for real and begun to half-snore in the way he does when he’s just about to fall asleep, Emily picks up her phone again and types out a message to Hanna.

“Did you know our husbands used to pick up together? And when I say ‘pick up together’ I don’t just mean wingmanning for each other. No, we’re talking threesomes, here.”

“?????” Hanna sends back.

Emily can’t help laughing at her friend unwittingly reproducing exactly the name that Emily had used for the screenshot of the ‘Favietor’d’ tweet. Jon lifts his head a fraction at the sound and mumbles “Go to sleep, babe.”

Emily hums noncommittally and sends the screenshot over to Hanna, followed by a quote of the original tweet as best she can remember it.

“Is that all the proof you have?” Hanna replies, almost immediately. “Because I’m not saying you’re not obviously right, but that is still just circumstantial evidence.”

“Oh nooo, there’s nothing circumstantial about this. The case is closed; I have a guilty plea already.”

It takes a little longer for Hanna to answer this time. Emily’s eyes fall shut and she almost falls asleep with her phone in her hand, startling when it buzzes.

“Holy shit.”

“Yup.”

\---

Over the next two days, Emily and Hanna work together to weasel more details out of their uncooperative husbands. It turns out that it all started on a night out in June of 2010, when Jon had struck out with the woman he was hitting on and gone over to Tommy to see if he was having any more luck. From what Emily and Hanna gather, the woman Tommy had been talking to had started out lukewarm about the prospect of going home with a WASPy NSC spokesperson, but heated up considerably at the approach of a gap-toothed speechwriter. She had suggested a threesome “mostly to not make me feel bad, I think,” Hanna reports Tommy as saying, and he and Jon had been “just drunk enough” to both take her up on the offer _and_  to still be able to go through with it.

The dudes’ second venture into the joys of group sex took place in October 2010, and is characterized by Jon as “slightly more, uh, intentional.” Tommy describes the girl in question as “some sort of ‘government groupie’,” and Emily figures that that must have been the Laura Andersen of Twitter infamy. She had apparently run into Jon and Tommy at some semi-official function and fawned over them all night while expressing vaguely disconcerting amounts of knowledge about their personal lives. For some reason the boys had decided to give her the night of her life. They are both evasive about why exactly they’d come to that decision, but Emily does some light internet stalking of Ms. Andersen and figures that it probably was because she’s _really fucking hot_.

As for the third time, the one that took place in 2011, the girls get even fewer details. They suspect that the boys might have struck some sort of secrecy-pact regarding this one, because  Tommy apparently refuses to answer any and all questions and Emily has to push _pretty_ hard before she gets Jon to mutter something about “some girl Tommy was seeing at the time” (“So _not_ ‘just a hook-up,’ then?” “Well, no, but you’ll also notice that Tommy didn’t go on to marry her.”) and a game of Never Have I Ever going off the rails. The dudes also refuse to answer the question of whether they would have kept their little tradition going if it hadn’t been for Emily coming into their lives, but it only seems reasonable to assume that they would have.

\---

The thing is, it’s not like Emily has never thought about inviting Tommy into her and Jon’s bedroom before. When she first met Tommy they had flirted a little, and then they had never really stopped, even after she got side-tracked from acting on any impure designs on his person by falling head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Edward Favreau. Tommy can be casually cruel in a way that Jon never is, and his snide comments have always worked like full body ASMR for Emily (and roused her curiosity about how else that meanness might manifest). For her part, Emily still delights in making Tommy blush whenever she can, and even from a purely bodily perspective there’s no use denying how often she catches herself staring at Tommy’s muscular arms these days, imagining (assisted by some unknowingly provided input from Hanna) different ways he could put them to use. Also, there’s something about the ‘old marrieds’ nature of his and Jon’s friendship that’s very… compelling.

Neither Hanna nor Jon can have missed that Emily’s investment in this subject goes far beyond just the gossip factor. Tommy’s probably not too in the dark about that whole aspect either, for that matter; Emily has made enough jokes-not-jokes along threesome-y lines through the years for it not to be much of a presumption that she would be _very_ amenable to things taking a turn in that direction. But really, she had been fine with keeping it as just a fantasy, as something that could never happen in real life, until she learned that it _actually had_. And it’s simply _galling_ that Laura _fucking_ Andersen got to experience it and she probably never will.

The situation is not made better by the fact that her cold means that Emily has all the time in the world to contemplate the idea of Tommy straddling her chest so she can suck him off while Jon licks at her pussy. Or, you know, whatever. She tries to distract herself by continuing the Friends-binge she’d begun the night she fell ill, and it works reasonably well until Joey looks her in the eye and says “I’ve got two words for you: threesome.”

And then Emily’s endeavors to forget all about it are ruined utterly and entirely by Jon coming home and announcing that he’d stopped by at Tommy and Hanna’s on the way, and that the three of them had “discussed some things together.”

\---

Jon’s recounting of his talk with Tommy and Hanna has left Emily _acutely_ keen to get rid of her cold. In the past she has never been much for home remedies and alternative medicine – and she _is_ already getting better – but just to be safe she starts mainlining ginger tea and Echinacea, and rinses her sinuses with saline solution. After some deliberation she even tries her father’s old “sure-fire way to send a cold packing”: eating a clove of garlic.

Jon laughs unfeelingly as Emily coughs and sputters, and she forces herself to swallow the half-chewed mush mainly as a gotcha.

“I feel better already,” she says, tears streaming out of her eyes.

Jon raises his eyebrows doubtfully.

“Come kiss me better instead, then, if you don’t believe me,” she says, swallowing again to get rid of some of the horrid aftertaste.

Jon laughs.

“Nope!”

Emily walks towards him, making kissy noises into the air. Jon backs away until he’s trapped against the kitchen island. Emily leans up on her tippy-toes, breathing hell-breath right into her husband’s nose, when he suddenly dodges and makes a run for it towards the dining room.

Emily ends up chasing Jon through the entire house, Leo racing along with them, ecstatic over this unprecedented indoor play time. When Jon finally lets her catch him she’s panting and drenched in garlic-smelling sweat, but it’s fine. Google tells her that if you’re up for a little exercise, that can help you get better too.

\---

The next Friday night, when she has finally stopped sniffling once and for all, Emily finds herself walking down Melrose Avenue after leaving Leo with the pet-sitter who takes care of Pundit during Lovett or Leave It. The blood-red soles of Emily’s powder pink pumps click against the sidewalk cement, her hair smells like jasmine flower, and she’s wearing the black dress she wore to Tommy and Hanna’s wedding, the one that Jon said made her “look like sex.” Tonight is the night; tonight Emily will join the illustrious ranks of Ms. Lukewarm, Laura Fucking Andersen, and Tommy’s 2011 Mystery Girl.

“We’re gonna do this right,” Jon had promised her before they left for work that morning, and told her to show up at Melrose Umbrella Co. at 7.30.

So here Emily is, now, at a bar she’s never been to before even though it’s just a few blocks away from her and Jon’s house. It’s immediately clear why they’ve chosen this place; with its wood panels and exposed brickwork this has to be the closest to a typical Georgetown haunt that their neighborhood has to offer. (It has _way_ more of a hipster-y vibe, though.)

The first thing Emily sees as she walks through the door is Tommy, up at the bar with his back to the entrance, wearing his snugly fitting Indochino suit pants and that green button-down that she’d complimented him on once. It makes her smile, and when she looks around the room she finds Jon at a table in a dark corner, looking for all the world like he’s trying to chat Hanna up – but Emily knows that Hanna’s not interested in participating in their little Friday night frolic, so she must just be there to turn Jon down and set the scene for him to eventually amble over to where Emily’s flirting with Tommy.

They really _are_ doing this right, it seems. Emily feels oddly touched, and makes a mental note to invite Hanna on a girls’ night out. For the above scenario to be able to play out, though, Emily has to be flirting with Tommy, so she swallows down her sudden nervousness and goes up to the bar, to where Tommy’s more leaning against the bar stool than sitting on it, one foot up on the footrest. As Emily falls into place beside him, he turns towards her and gives her an appreciating look.

Emily has gotten appreciating looks from Tommy before, friendly smiles and “you look great!s,” but this is different. Sharper, less guarded. Not quite a leer, but not far from it either. Emily feels herself blush (oh, how the tables have turned!), but she ignores him and tries to get the bartender’s attention. She doesn’t know exactly what kind of role she’s playing here yet, but ignoring a man’s attention at a bar seems in character for pretty much any woman.

The bar area is pretty small, so by rights it shouldn’t be hard for Emily to get the bartender to notice her, but annoyingly, she is having no such luck. And _of course_ Tommy just has to do that upwards bro-nod that dudes do to get the bartender to come running.

“What do you want?” Tommy asks Emily, smiling innocently.

It’s almost _too_ perfect.

“A Cherry Collins, please,” she says to the bartender, who nods.

When Emily gets her drink, Tommy insists on paying for it. Emily makes a big deal out of giving him an overt once-over before she says yes, and she can see the amusement in his eyes as he gets out his wallet. This is already so fun; they should have done this ages ago.

“Thank you…” she says, trailing off expectantly.

“Tom,” Tommy supplies.

Emily raises her eyebrows. The first time Tommy had introduced himself to her like that, she had shot back “Huh, I thought I heard one of your friends call you ‘Tommy.’ Which one is it?” Tommy had blushed, then, and said “Either’s fine.”

Now, Emily just says “Nice to meet you, Tom. I’m Emily,” and extends a hand.

Tommy shakes it, and Emily rejoices in being allowed to rejoice in how tiny her hand feels in his, in the suppressed strength of his grip. Absently she notices that he’s still wearing his wedding ring. She is as well.

“Emily,” Tommy echoes. “That’s a pretty name.”

(That _was_ what he had actually said when they first introduced themselves to each other. Emily’s kinda touched that he remembered.)

Emily takes a sip of her drink. It’s good – really good. Maybe they should start actually coming here for real.

“Mmm, this is good,” she says, stretching out the ‘mmm’ to something akin to a moan. “What are _you_ drinking, Tom?”

She’s genuinely curious, but it also seems like believable small talk.

“It’s called ‘Midnight Market,’” Tommy replies. “It has coconut La Croix and whiskey in it.”

Tommy loves La Croix and he loves whiskey, and Emily’s pretty sure that he brought those specific ingredients up to test whether she would acknowledge that she knows that about him or keep playing at being strangers.

“Oooh, that sounds interesting,” she says. “Can I taste it?”

Tommy’s eyes widen a little, and the faintest of blushes slowly start to spread over his cheekbones. He nods.

Emily wants to make that blush spread further ASAP, so she pulls her straw from her own drink and sucks it dry from the bottom, then licks the outside clean. She follows that up by leaning over to stick it into Tommy’s glass and take a sip, making sure to keep her back straight and push her boobs together as much as possible. Out of the corner of her eye she notices Jon staring open-mouthed at her shameless display, and she has to take a deep breath in order not to break character.

“Not bad,” she says once she’s upright again, noting that her plan to make Tommy’s blush deepen _definitely_ worked. “Do you wanna try mine?”

Emily sticks her straw back into her own glass, then she holds the glass out towards Tommy, inviting him to wrap his lips around the straw she just licked and drink out of her hand. Tommy does so, maintaining eye contact all the while.

Now Hanna is staring at them as well.

\---

“Are we gonna keep this up all night?” Emily asks conversationally, a few minutes of taking-things-down-a-notch-through-boring-small-talk later.

Tommy smiles at her, almost a regular Tommy smile (but there’s a hint of that initial leer in it).

“The ‘strangers’ thing? That’s up to you, Em. This is your night.”

 _Shit, that’s hot._ Emily rubs her thighs together, realizing that her panties are gonna be soaked through long before they get to the point where they’re coming off.

“Uh, okay,” says Emily eloquently. “Well, I guess it has worked well this far…”

“I guess it has,” Tommy replies, heat in his voice.

Emily’s eyes snap up to his, and there’s a hunger in them that makes her shiver. An absurd image of herself as the Little Red Riding Hood, looking up at Tommy’s Big Bad Wolf, flashes through her mind. And _of course_ this is the exact moment at which Jon decides to interrupt them.

“Hey, Tom, how’s it going?” he asks, slapping Tommy on the back.

Tommy shoots him a _very_ credible irritated glance.

“This is Emily,” he says. The ‘ _back off_ ’ is silent.

Jon stretches out a hand and Emily takes it, the formality of a handshake with her own husband sending mixed signals to her poor confused body. Like her and Tommy he’s wearing his wedding ring, but he’s less formally dressed than the two of them in jeans and a black V-neck paired with a grey blazer. He still looks great, of course.

“I’m Jon,” he says, flashing her one of his brightest smiles, and Emily is ready to fall in love again all over, her annoyance at his interruption completely forgotten. “How do you like my best bud?”

 _Don’t let Lovett hear you say that,_ Emily thinks. Out loud, she says, “We’re talking about foreign policy.”

They hadn’t been, of course, but Lovett has taught Emily to go with the Rule of Funny whenever possible.

“Ah, he has always had a way with the ladies, our Tommy.”

“What happened to the beautiful lady _you_ were talking to, then, Favs?” Tommy volleys back, a little vicious.

The hairs on Emily’s arms stand up. Jon just laughs his expansive laugh.

“She suddenly remembered a prior appointment,” he says with an expressive shrug. Then he leans towards them and confides in a whisper, “I think that might just have been an excuse, though.”

Emily laughs, and, seemingly despite himself, Tommy chuckles too.

“Well, we can’t all have the luck that you’re having with your lovely companion tonight,” Jon continues. It’s just past the verge of too sleazy, but he softens it by gracing Emily with another one of his heartthrob grins; she decides to let it slide. (For now, that is – she’s definitely gonna tease him about it later!)

“So, how long have you two known each other?” she asks.

Jon and Tommy look at each other.

“Is it fourteen years, now?” Jon asks.

Tommy just nods, falling back the way he often does when people start competing for attention. Emily’s first instinct is to draw him back in again, but this time she lets it happen. She wonders if this was how things went down that first time that Jon and Tommy ended up in bed together with a Lady Stranger.

Emily pushes down the pang of something between wistfulness and jealousy she always feels when Jon and Tommy talk about the good old days and asks, “So you must know each other pretty well, then?”

The guys share another glance at that, something passing between them that Emily doesn’t quite grasp.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon says. “You know what it’s like when you spend a lot of time with someone; sooner or later you end up doing some crazy shit together, and that forges some pretty strong bonds.”

Jon probably meant this statement to move things along in a threesome-y direction, but Emily decides to instead take it as an invitation to tell him all over again about the time she and her best friend got stuck half-way up a Ferris wheel and had to climb down a blood-curdlingly tall fire engine ladder to get down, only to realize they’d left their bags up in the gondola. As she talks, Emily subtly turns her back towards Tommy a little and leans towards Jon instead, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. Jon has heard her story a million times before but he’s a good sport now, laughing what seem to be genuine laughs in all the right places and asking follow-up questions he already knows the answers to.

\---

“If you two want to get a room…” Tommy mutters once Emily’s done telling her story, a performative whine folded into his deep voice.

Jon, still laughing, throws an arm around him and ruffles his hair.

“Hey, now, don’t be like that. We can all _enjoy each others’ company_ ,” he says significatively.

Emily’s husband has never been the best of actors, bless him. Not that Tommy is doing much better, trying and failing to glare daggers at him, given away by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile that he at least manages to keep mostly off his lips. Looking at her ‘handsome boys,’ as Lovett would say, Emily’s suddenly struck by a devious idea.

“How about this,” she says, voice bright. “I kiss both of you, and then I go home with whoever’s the better kisser?”

Jon and Tommy grin at each other at that, which Emily thinks is a bit of an out-of-character reaction. Still, she can’t blame them for appreciating the little game she’s set up, when the end is a foregone conclusion and they don’t actually have to compete.

Jon leans in first, pushing Emily back against the bar as he tangles a hand in her hair, sending a waft of jasmine scent over all thee of them. As her husband he obviously has the advantage of familiarity, of knowing what Emily likes, of knowing how exactly to tease to get her to lean forward _just so_ and lick desperately into his mouth as he pulls at her hair the tiniest bit. He holds back for a few seconds, using only lips, even as he presses his body against hers so she can feel just how much of a, er, stiff competitor he is. Then he suddenly swipes his tongue in three times, deep and quick, making Emily moan contentedly. Jon ends the kiss with a soft nibble at her lower lip, and steps back to leave room for Tommy.

Tommy gets up from his barstool and takes a step towards Emily, who’s still a little breathless from her kiss with Jon. Emily tilts her face up with her eyes open, and is immediately pinned by his blue-intense gaze. She sways a little – swoons, maybe; yes this _must_ be what they mean by that word when they use it in all those trashy bodice rippers – but Tommy grabs her upper arms in a grip that’s strong and sure, and then his mouth is on hers. There’s no teasing here, just soft but insistent heat. And well, Jon may have had the advantage of familiarity, but Tommy has the advantage of _holy shit I’m kissing Tomm_ y. Tommy’s fingers tighten even more around Emily’s arms as the kiss deepens and she lifts her hands to rest on his hips. There’s still a handbreadth of air between their bodies but Emily’s head is swimming, her lips tingling, her pussy pulsing. Then Tommy pulls back with a chuckle that tickles Emily’s wet lips, and when she opens her eyes into his they’re almost all pupil.

By now, quite a few of the other bar patrons are staring, and Emily feels herself flush all over. Maybe they won’t go back here after all. In any case: time to leave. Emily skips over her mock competition judging and just grabs both her boys by the hands to drag them out of the bar.

\---

Back home in Jon and Emily’s bedroom (“Your place or mine?” Jon had asked, sticking out his tongue, as they got in the Lyft) Tommy, without hesitation, pushes the spaghetti strap off Emily’s left shoulder and leans in to kiss at her collarbone. She catches Jon’s gaze above Tommy’s head, and the look in his eyes has her actually weak in the knees. She sways (swoons?) again, just like back at the bar, and Tommy wraps an arm around her waist to steady her even as he bites down into the place where her neck meets her shoulder. It’s just a quick nip and then he’s licking soothingly where he just bit, but Emily still can’t help whining, a high-pitched note that slips out between her lips without her conscious assent.

“You can leave marks if you want,” she mumbles, her eyes still locked on Jon’s.

Both Jon and Tommy groan at that. Emily can’t help smirking as Tommy immediately starts sucking at her shoulder (a little further down from her neck, where it’ll be easier to cover with her clothes), worrying her skin between his teeth. With two quick strides Jon is in her space as well, leaning over Tommy to kiss Emily on the mouth. After a moment of this, Tommy laughs and ducks out. When Emily opens her eyes he’s sitting on the side of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. That won’t do – Emily has wanted to be the one to do that ever since she first realized that he must have put it on just because she liked it.  (“I like this,” she had said, months ago, waving her hand at Tommy’s torso more generally. “It brings out the hint of green in your eyes.”)

A little reluctantly, Emily pulls away from Jon. She gives him an apologetic smile before she swirls around, her dress twirling around her, and catches Tommy’s eyes.

“Stop that,” she says, and his hands fall instantly to his sides.

Even after all that has already gone down tonight, even after their kiss and sitting pressed together in the Lyft home, giggling like children, Emily still finds it weird to think that she gets to touch Tommy, gets to fuck Tommy. But Tommy hadn’t hesitated before, when he pushed down her shoulder strap, so Emily doesn’t hesitate now. She sits down in Tommy’s lap – straddling him, really, one leg on each side of him on the bed, careful not to let her wet panties rub against his slacks. She smoothes her hands over the twilly fabric of his shirt, across his pecs and down his arms, then she picks up where he left off unbuttoning it.

It turns out that Tommy’s wearing an undershirt, because of course he is. Still, Emily pushes the green shirt off his arms, then balls it up and throws it over her shoulder for Jon to take care of, which earns her a goofy grin from Tommy. Right now she cares more about his arms than his face, though. She traces a finger over his bicep down to the crook of his arm, then adds another three to scratch back up. Tommy leans his head back.

“You can leave marks, too,” he exhales.

Emily shudders. She grabs Tommy’s left hand, places it on her bare leg, just above the knee. They look down at it together; when he squeezes his fingers into the meat of her thigh it looks like a detail from one of the sculptures by Bernini that Emily and Jon had seen on their honeymoon. Emily gasps, and Tommy squeezes tighter, then lets his hand begin to travel upwards. Emily looks on, rapt, her breaths getting shallower. Then Jon slots in behind her and starts unclasping the little metal hooks that keeps her dress closed in the back. When he’s done he taps her arms, and Emily understands to raise them so he can lift the dress off her.

Jon has never been much of a talker during sex, and for a moment Emily worries that it’ll throw Tommy off. Then she realizes that Tommy in all likelihood knew that about him before _she_ did, and that’s… wow. Emily gets so lost in her realization that she doesn’t even notice the way that Tommy’s staring at her, now that her dress has come off. When she dials back in Tommy’s hands are hovering in the air above Emily’s boring plain white bra, picked out for its sole virtue of being strapless. Emily hears a snigger from behind her, and Tommy shoots a glare over her shoulder before tugging his undershirt off in one swift motion and then pulling her closer, burrowing his face in her neck.

Emily is sure that through the years of their acquaintance, she must at some point have hugged Tommy while both of them were wearing swimwear, but even if she’d been able to remember such an instance it would have paled in comparison to their skin-to-skin contact now, pressed together, sharing heat, with her bra as the only barrier between their chests. Emily gropes at her back until Jon takes pity on her and unhooks her bra, tearing it off as he leans down to mouth at her shoulder blade. As Jon starts to work his way down her spine, Emily tilts her head back, giving Tommy room to get his lips on her throat. Still pressed flush against Tommy, with two sets of lips on her skin, Emily looses herself in the sensations. Then she gets too warm.

Emily needs some space, and predictably Jon can tell that she wants to get up before she’s even fully formulated the thought to herself. He moves out of the way so she can rise, and steadies her when she wobbles, still in her Louboutins. She leans up to kiss his cheek in thanks, then she pinches his t-shirt between her thumb and index finger and tugs at it twice; _take it off_. Jon grins at her and moves to acquiesce as she lets herself fall down on the bed next to Tommy and fans herself with her hand. She puts a foot up on the bed – yeah, she’s still wearing her heels but they’ll have to wash the sheets after tonight anyway and she doesn’t want to take them off before the guys have had a chance to notice that they match her (maybe _slightly_ more ‘dusty rose’ than ‘powder pink,’ but still) satin lace panties _almost_ perfectly.

The guys, Emily realizes, are getting – and taking! – their chance to notice these things _right now_ ; Jon has frozen, half-way out of his t-shirt, to stare at her, and Tommy has twisted his torso towards her as well, his eyes wide and his skin flushed almost to his navel. Emily’s suddenly self-conscious.

With more bravado than she really feels she announces, “You two are wearing too many clothes!”

\---

A few minutes later, Emily is up against the headboard of the bed with her – now bare – feet in Jon’s lap, drinking a glass of water that Tommy has fetched for her. Jon is giving her a quick foot massage while Tommy puts away her pumps after reverently taking them off her feet, one after the other. Both men are now down to their underwear as well (but only Tommy is wearing TommyJohns), and Emily’s view of Tommy’s ass as he bends over to put her shoes down by the bedroom door is truly spectacular. (Jon’s ass is nothing to sneeze at either, but Tommy’s is delectable.)

Now that the three of them have attained more equal standing regarding their state of undress (or would Emily count as more naked with her bra off even though all three of them are only wearing one piece of clothing? Never mind!) Emily feels much less self-conscious; she’s ready to get into it again. She puts her empty water glass away and relaxes back against the headboard. Jon, always attuned to Emily’s body language, quickly catches on and lets his hands begin to travel higher, squeezing at Emily’s ankles, then her calves. Emily shivers with anticipation. When Tommy gets back on the bed, she makes a ‘come hither’ gesture with her finger, then she leans forward off the headboard to meet him in a kiss. Just like last time, Tommy kisses with single-minded focus, but this time he lets his hands wander over her shoulders and arms, then down to her breasts. The touch is feather-light, a little apprehensive, like he isn’t sure Emily will like it.

Emily pushes up against his hands to show that he doesn’t have to be careful, and Tommy moans into her mouth, immediately tightening his grip. Behind him, Jon clears his throat.

“You don’t have to hold back,” he says, voice gravelly. “Use your nails if you want, she’ll happily take it.”

Now it’s Emily’s turn to moan, both at what her husband says and the way he says it. She will never get enough of hearing him when he sounds like that; it really is such a pity that he doesn’t talk more during sex.

Tommy, for his part, is taking Jon’s advice with abandon. Soon he breaks their kiss to move his mouth to her breasts, and Emily has to lie down. She scoots away from the headboard, which moves Jon’s hands up to her thighs, and leans her head back over the edge of her pillow, her eyes still screwed shut. Tommy follows her down, biting softly at her left nipple – there’s still room for him to be _much_ rougher – while he keeps twirling her right one between his fingertips. Then that hand disappears just as Jon lets go of her thighs, and now Emily has a hot mouth on each breast, kissing and licking and nibbling. So that’s an interesting new sensation.

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

Then there’s a hand between Emily’s legs – she doesn’t know whose – and that might not be as new a sensation, but it sure is interesting. A finger trails over the soaked through fabric of her panties, up the length of her pussy, and the move is so familiar; it must be Jon. She makes a noise between a giggle and a gasp.

\---

It seems like it isn’t until now that Tommy notices what’s going on, because he makes a startled little noise in the back of his throat and lifts off Emily’s breast. Her nipple aches pleasantly, going even stiffer in the chill of the air against Tommy’s saliva. Emily lifts her head, pushes the pillow up so she can lie down on it and see what’s happening. What’s happening is that Tommy’s staring, spellbound, at Jon’s fingers brushing lightly back and forth over Emily’s vulva, and now Jon lifts his head as well, looks at Tommy.

“Let me,” Tommy says, low and deep, looking into Jon’s eyes with a seriousness that’s both hot and a little hilarious.

Jon nods and sits back to watch as Tommy moves to seat himself between Emily’s thighs.

“Spread your legs,” he says – an unnecessary command, as she’s already making space for him, but yet so _very_ necessary.

Tommy’s first touches are tentative, echoing Jon’s, and his eyes are on Emily’s face, reading it for cues. That means she can see it on _his_ face when something shifts; his eyes harden, his jaw sets.

“Lift up,” he says, now, and Emily realizes that his last comment had been a mere request: _this_ is a command.

She follows it, and Tommy delicately grabs at the lacey silk barring him from closer contact, tugs it down to her thighs. Then he bends her legs up and pushes them together so he can pull the panties the rest of the way off, dragging his big fingers over her smooth skin. Now Emily is _definitely_ the most naked person in the room, but she’s beyond caring, beyond getting embarrassed, even with two sets of eyes on her pussy as it comes into view when Tommy opens her legs again.

Tommy has not let go of her panties, Emily notices, just balled them up in his left fist. Now, as she watches, he brings the flimsy fabric back down to wipe away some of her own wetness. Emily doesn’t really understand why he’s doing that, but it’s definitely pretty hot. She decides to go with whatever he’s doing and lifts her hips for easier access. When Tommy’s satisfied with his work, he throws the mistreated undergarment over to Jon, who – obviously not expecting this move – only just manages to catch it. Then he looks down at the scrunched up pink cloth in his hand, clearly at a loss of what to do next.

“Smell them,” Tommy says, command-voice in full force, and now it’s Jon and Emily’s turn to moan together.

As Jon obediently lifts Emily’s wet underwear up to his face, Tommy cups her crotch, pressing his thumb against her now-dry clit. And Emily wants to keep watching her husband but her eyes fall shut on their own accord as Tommy starts to rub quick, dry circles over her clit, pausing every few strokes to flick his thumbnail over it. It’s zero-to-sixty in almost no time and so intense it’s painful, but Emily doesn’t want it to stop, and the balls of her feet feel like they’re burning, and she’s moaning, whining; desperate noises spilling out of her mouth like the wetness spilling out of her cunt. And suddenly Jon is kissing her, soft and gentle, the perfect counterpoint to Tommy’s roughness, and Emily starts to come, a soft shudder at first, building up until she’s shaking and wailing, her mouth gone slack against Jon’s.

Tommy drops down to lick at her opening, then, and she pushes up at Jon, bites at his lower lip as Tommy’s tongue moves over her, in her. Every now and again Tommy flicks his tongue at her oversensitive clit, but he mostly focuses at licking and sucking lower, now accompanied by a finger (or maybe two, Emily isn’t sure) that fucks in and out of her. Emily hardly has time to realize what’s happening before a second orgasm, almost just a soaring continuation of the first, starts to build. Soon she comes again, pulsing against Tommy’s mouth.

As Emily rides this second orgasm out she feels electric all over and giddy with it, laughing into Jon’s mouth until he pulls back to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Wow, Emily,” he says, his voice reverberating with awe.

And Emily loves him, loves him, loves him and some of that love is spilling over onto Tom in a way that’s a little confusing but she’s not focusing on that right now.

“Fuck me,” she whispers.

\---

Jon complies, moving to take Tommy’s place between Emily’s legs. Emily is too far gone to notice exactly what maneuvers they make to enable what’s next to come, but soon she finds herself with her head in Tommy’s lap (so close to the goods, but that is for later) as her husband pushes inside her in one, long stroke. Jon and Emily quickly find a good rhythm together, holding hands on either side of Tommy’s knees.

“You’re so beautiful,” Tommy says, stroking Emily’s hair as she writhes and pants under Jon. “I can see how much you love this, how much you love Jon’s dick; I can _smell_ how much you love it, Emily, _God!_ ”

Emily makes a high, keening noise at that, and pushes her hips up against Jon’s, locking eyes with him for a moment. There’s a sheen of sweat by her husband’s graying temples; he has never looked better. Emily and Jon share a smile, panting in the same rhythm.

“You two look amazing together,” Tommy mumbles softly, sounding wrecked. “Like you were made for each other. I can’t believe that I’m here with you right now, that I get to see this.”

Emily has to close her eyes, then, because everything is so much, Jon hitting her _just right_ and one of Tommy’s thumbs at her lips, his other hand twisting her nipple; she’s getting very, very close to her third – third! – orgasm of the night. Just before her eyelids flutter shut she sees Jon’s eyes snap away from her face, up to Tommy’s.

Jon lets go of Emily’s right hand to get a finger on her clit, and that’s all it takes. When Emily comes, Tommy leans down and kisses her damp forehead. Jon’s orgasm follows moments after her own, and as he thrusts through it Emily feels Tommy leaning forward once more; she opens her eyes to see the two of them kissing.

_Which. Huh. That’s… Okay. Okay. She can work with this._

Jon collapses down on Emily and kisses _her_ instead, and of course she can’t actually taste Tommy’s spit in his mouth but just knowing it’s there is really… something. Then Jon’s mouth moves down to her throat and she just lies there, breathing his cinnamon-y warmth. Jon knows exactly for how long she’ll tolerate his weight on her; he rolls off just when she’s starting to get uncomfortable. When Emily gets up on her elbow to look at him he’s flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with the goofiest grin on his face. Tommy and Emily share a fond look, which then swiftly turns much more heated.

“You up for keeping things going?” Tommy asks softly, thumbing suggestively at the elastic of his boxers.

Emily’s eyes don’t stay on the elastic for long. _Good heavens, Tommy’s cock looks huge._ And sure, Emily’s not surprised – she’s seen how Tommy moves, how he sits, she’s heard Hanna’s innuendo – but still. It’s one thing to contemplate someone having a large dick in the abstract, another to do it when that very dick is about to be inside you. So Emily swallows, but she nods. Tommy grins at her, almost as wide as Jon. He’s out of his TommyJohns in no time, and then he sits down again, leaning against the headboard with his legs crossed. He pats his thigh.

“Come here,” he says, an invite more than a command this time.

Emily intends to accept that invite, but first she needs to stare a little at Tommy’s genitalia. It _is_ huge, and very, very red – which also isn’t surprising, what with Tommy’s general redness. It looks like it was made to be licked at, but Emily’s sure it’ll be fine at fucking too.

Tommy sees her looking, of course, and quickly glances down as well.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” he says, oddly bashful. “You should be on top – you’ll want to be the one in control.”

Jon sniggers at that, from where he’s lying on his back, still blissed out, and Emily decides that yes, she _does_ want to be the one in control.

“Well, in that case,” she says slowly, drawing each word out, “you should put your hands on the headboard.”

Tommy catches her gaze.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smirk. Then he does as he’s told, spreading his arms out wide. He looks obscene like that, proffered like a gift, laid out for the taking.

“We need a condom,” Emily says next, and Jon finally moves, just a little, to stretch his arm over to the nightstand and get the little square plastic wrapper they left there in the morning, in preparation for exactly this.

Emily takes the condom from Jon, then she gets up on her knees to get into Tommy’s lap, and – _oh. Right._ She and Jon had _not_ used a condom, and now his come is dripping out of her.

“Uh, get me a towel, too, babe,” she says, drawing both Jon’s and Tommy’s attention to what is happening.

Jon groans, not sexily, at having to get up, but Tommy’s staring, transfixed, at the pearly liquid running down Emily’s thigh. He looks… hungry, but like he’s trying to hide it. _Interesting._

“No, wait,” she amends. “Tommy will get it.”

\---

When Tommy comes back, Emily directs him to clean her up, and he does it devotedly, rapturously, with soft moments, making sure to get every drop. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily can see Jon watching Tommy just as intently as she is.

“That’s good,” she says when she decides he’s done. “Now get back into position.”

Tommy does, and Emily again marvels at the size of his cock. His erection hasn’t flagged one bit through all of the interruption, and now he’ll be rewarded for it. Emily opens the condom wrapper and moves to put it on, to touch Tommy’s dick for the first time. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but the condom slides on easily, and now she can grab Tommy by the shoulders to steady herself as she climbs into his lap and slowly, slowly begins to take him in.   _Oh, wow_. Some of Jon’s come is still left in her, easing the way together with her own wetness, but Tommy’s cock is still _so much_ , especially after coming three times already. It’s impossible to focus on anything other than how this feels. The soles of Emily’s feet start to burn again, and she hides her hot face in Tommy’s broad neck, rests her hands on his bulging biceps, presses her nails into his skin, maybe leaving those marks he gave her permission to leave. She breathes in, breathes out; then she starts to push herself up again.

After a few more of these slow thrusts Emily brings two of her fingers down to her still very sensitive clit and just holds them there, a light press enough to enhance her pleasure until she’s on the edge again. Tommy follows the movement of her hand with his gaze and _gasps_ together with her when it reaches its destination. Emily leans down and finds Tommy’s mouth with her own, licks into it messily, still moving at a pace that must be _torturously_ slow for him. Tommy, apparently a master of self-control, just takes it, clutching the headboard with a grip so hard that his knuckles have gone white. When Emily throws her head back he gets his mouth on her collarbone again, scraping his teeth along it, and she shakes apart in his lap, scratching her nails down his pecs, wringing little mewling noises out of him that she hardly notices. When she stops shaking she feels completely wrung out. There are actual tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t take any more,” she whispers into Tommy’s hair, feeling genuinely bad about it.

“It’s fine, Em,” Tommy returns, his voice wavering a little, like he’s as overwhelmed as she feels. His chest is covered in scratch marks, even redder lines against his flushed red skin. He has taken his hands off the headboard; now he gently brushes them up and down Emily’s back. “Jon can suck me off.”

_Oh. God._

Carefully, Emily gets up and off Tommy’s cock. Then she lies down on the bed and just breathes for a moment, before looking over at Jon. Emily had lost track of him a little for a moment there, but Tommy’s comment managed to bring her husband to the forefront of her mind with almost painful force. Now she catches Jon’s eye to see what _he_ thinks about this latest development. He looks a little wary; he’s sitting up, now, with one arm wrapped across his own chest, but Emily knows his tells. His lips are parted, his tongue swiping across them, his head is tilted to the side, he’s stretching his long fingers out towards Tom; he’s into this. Emily will get to see her husband give his best friend a blowjob. This evening is delivering far beyond Emily’s wildest dreams.

Tommy lies down beside Emily and pulls her to his side, rests his right hand lightly on her mound, twirling his fingers in the hair she leaves there when she shaves. Then he makes the very same ‘come hither’ gesture that Emily had made at _him_ when they first got down on the bed. Jon comes hither.

\---

Jon gets into position between Tommy’s legs and strokes his hands up and down Tommy’s thighs a few times. Then he abruptly pulls the condom off from Tom and starts jacking him, fast and sure. He goes like that for something like half a minute, before leaning down and actually putting his mouth to work. Tommy’s dick is definitely _very_ lickable, it turns out. Maybe some day Emily will get to lick it herself.

Emily can’t quite tell if it looks like Jon has done this before or not – he’s clearly proficient enough to soon have Tom pushing up into his mouth, making those same little mewling noises that he made into Emily’s hair before (which she can now appreciate more fully), but then again, maybe ‘proficient enough’ just means ‘has a mouth.’

As Tommy’s breath quickens, his large fingers travel down towards Emily’s clit again, and Emily surprises herself by pushing up against them. She’s not chasing after another orgasm but the pressure feels nice, and it goes very well with the image of her husband’s lips, wet with spit, sliding up and down the scarlet length of Tommy’s cock.

“You’re doing great, love,” Emily says, carding her fingers through Jon’s hair, because he _is_ and he loves encouragement.

“Yeah, yeah, you are,” Tommy agrees, tangling his fingers with Emily’s in Jon’s hair, turning his head to kiss at her temple.

Then Tommy’s hips snaps up once, twice, thrice, before staying there as Jon clearly struggles to swallow around him.

\---

The next morning Emily wakes up, a little sore but well-rested, to an empty bed – Jon must be out running already – and a flurry of messages from Hanna. At first she gets a smidge worried, but as she reads through them she starts to laugh instead.

“How was it? Did you like it?”

“Would you want to do it again?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you’re doing ever since I got home.”

“Not in a bad way don’t worry.”

“Oh shit Tom just came home and told me all about it.”

“Omg, that’s so hot.”

“I didn’t think it’d be this hot.”

“Sorry about this btw. Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“Anyway what I’m saying is that you have to let me join in next time.”

Well, it seems that Emily and Hanna will have a _lot_ to talk about on that girls’ night out Emily decided on last night. For now, Emily sends back,

“Yeah, getting #favietor’d is pretty great. You should definitely try it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Joey’s line about the threesome is from season 2, episode 8 of Friends (“The One with the List”). Here's a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1l1Ed7KygQg) to the specific scene in question.
> 
> Emily’s dress looks like [this](https://twitter.com/ebfavs/status/1023372384588328960), and her shoes like [this](https://magento.fashionette.de/media/catalog/product/cache/18/image/725x725/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/c/h/christianlouboutin-85395-02_1.jpg).
> 
> Bernini really sculpted some sexy hand + skin combos, most famously [here](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/b/b3/The_Rape_of_Proserpina_1_-_Bernini_-_1622_-_Galleria_Borghese%2C_Rome.jpg/674px-The_Rape_of_Proserpina_1_-_Bernini_-_1622_-_Galleria_Borghese%2C_Rome.jpg), but also have [some](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/83/d1/7e/83d17e1f247cac0ff13667ca71c85b0b.jpg) [other](https://www.teggelaar.com/rome/images/imagesub/imrome/R1090.jpg) [examples](https://julieoyang.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/bernini.jpg?w=768&h=512) (okay that last one isn’t really hand + skin, but for a funerary monument of a nun it’s still pretty… sensual).
> 
> And finally, Emily’s “You two are wearing too many clothes!” line is best imagined said like the last line of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Vz_SeHIOAs)!
> 
> I have a [podsa tumblr](https://abriefshoutouttosomeminutiae.tumblr.com/), that is sometimes somewhat interesting. Come say hi!


End file.
